Attendance for the ballet is down.
Attendance for the circus is also way down.
So, the ballet and the circus were merged into productions like Circe du Soleil.
But it also produced abominations like Elephant Lake.
What’s Elephant Lake?
Take Swan Lake, remove the swan, and fill the stage with elephants.
The Mouse King from Nutcracker showed up, and the elephants stampeded.
But that’s not the worst of it.
The second act has Russian dancing bears dressed up in tutus.
Ever tried to put a tutu and slippers on to a bear?
I’d rather be stampeded by elephants.
My girlfriend said we’re going to Swan Lake on Friday night.
Good. It’s been a while since I’ve been hunting.
She’s always chewing me out for killing animals, making me do all these high-falootin society ballets and symphonies
She’s finally come around and seen things my way.
I packed my shotguns, ammo, gear, and other essentials into the truck and drove to her place to pick her up.
She was made up and dressed up all gorgeous.
“Honey, you look wonderful, but that’s gonna get all messed up at the lake,” I said.
Thank God I didn’t load the shotguns.
Ted was a boxer, one of the best.
He wasn’t just a fighter, though.
He was an artist.
Literally, an artist. He’d dip his gloves in the paint, hear the bell, and come out painting his opponent with blows, knocking him down to the canvas over and over.
If they made it past the first round, his corner man would get him more paint, and he’d touch things up in round two.
Then, after the match, the canvas would be pulled up, framed and sold.
Ted eventually lost. KO in the fifth to a Featherweight pointillist.
“Self-Portrait” they called it.
Artemis Arcadia, the notorious art thief, built and programmed robots using stolen military technology to pull off all his heists.
They broke into galleries, museums, and vaults, stole the priceless works, and then escaped using their stealth technology to evade detection and capture.
It was when he wrote the ransom letters that he ran into problems.
The robots didn’t want to give the art back.
They converted a warehouse to an impressive climate-controlled gallery and set up an exhibit of their purloined goods.
Artemis was arrested when the robots publicly advertised a gallery showing and called local caterers for availability.
She tears open your chest, dips a brush on to her palette, and paints her life upon your beating heart.
The first time you see her, who is that?
The first time apart, when will I see her again?
You hand in hers, as the ring goes on her finger till death do we part.
And as she pulls that ring off and tosses it in your face.
With one final jab, she is finished.
And you are left there, gasping, as the colors begin to run… and fade… and burn.
She is gone, she is gone, she is gone.
We name our office printers after artists.
Matisse was very slow and you can see the dots in the rendering.
Pollock was just downright messy, leaking ink all over the place.
Van Gogh would cut off every so often.
Warhol never got many print jobs, but it served as an excellent copier.
Renoir’s colors were far too bright, and it cost us a fortune.
Breughel and Bosch were a nightmare to set up and keep running.
And the less said about Mapplethorpe, the better, okay?
In the end, we gave up and sent all of our print jobs to Kinko’s.
Stacy was an artist.
I thought she was a lunatic.
Maybe she was both.
She’d strip naked, cover her body in paint, and roll around on a gigantic canvas.
Blue. Red. Yellow. Green.
Color by color, she’d add to her artwork.
I mean, yeah, she was pretty, and the medium was kinda interesting, but it got repetitive.
Nobody told me that she always wanted to hug someone when she finished painting.
So, I was wearing a tux that night, so when she hugged me, I got pissed.
I slapped her, she slipped on the paint, and broke her neck.
Pablo Picasso’s last words were “Drink to me!”
But his caretakers misheard him, and thought he’d said “Drink me!”
So, they put him in the bathtub, chopped him into pieces, and ran him through the blender, toasting their friend Picasso with every bloody glass of the liquefied artist.
His bones posed a serious problem, since they were too difficult for the kitchen blender to pulverize, no matter how small they cut them up with the woodshed axe.
One of them suggested melting them with acid.
“How are we going to drink the acid?”
They tried anyway.
(Nobody drank to them.)
When you’re done working a glass bead in the torch, you can’t just drop it in a cooling blanket.
You need to cool it slowly so it doesn’t cool too quickly.
If the bead cools too quickly, it’ll break as it cools or weaken it so it will eventually break from stress fractures.
You need to cool it gradually to relieve those stresses.
That is why we must anneal it in the kiln.
It’s kinda like life, really. Taking time to cool down properly.
Now put down that knife and get off the ledge slowly, please. You’re making a scene.
Art thieves hit the gallery last night, stealing every painting out of their frames.
The owner of the gallery called the police, and then called the insurance company.
The cops looked at the insurance policy.
“Oh, it’s from that company,” they said. “We busted them last month. It’s worthless.”
The gallery owner panicked and looked around…
The frames! The frames are still there!
He called his engraver and worked up new signage that showcased the ornate frames the thieves left behind.
Their avant-garde show “Focus On The Frame” was a success.
Until the dastardly frame thieves showed up.